Chapter 15 - Heather

Chapter 15

Heather

Cusco, Peru

"You know why it happened, don't you?" Mom said as she opened the package that had arrived from their Machu Picchu tour guides. She and Heather were having breakfast in their room, out on the terrace, quarantined from bumping into Shawn. Bon had taken it on herself to go and break the news to him and his "furry friend," as she kept calling Kyle, that they'd be going on their trek without Heather.

"You know why what happened?" Heather turned her face up to the sun and closed her eyes. It was cold outside, and she was wearing her thermals and her fleece jacket and had pulled the quilt off her bed and wrapped it around her. If it was this cold here, she could only imagine how cold the mountains were going to feel.

"Why Dad cheated," Mom whispered. "I never got it at the time, but I was just a dumb kid. It's so obvious now." She opened the brochure from the tour company and swore. "Oh my God. This is proper hiking. Look at this map!" She turned the brochure so Heather could see the map. It was a jagged line, like a heart monitor graph, peaking in three steep jags before sliding down to Machu Picchu.

"I'm not going to read that," Mom decided aloud. She snapped the brochure closed and tossed it onto the table next to their uneaten toast. "I'll be suffering whether I know about it now or not, so I'd rather just dive in."

Heather squirmed an arm free of her quilt and reached for the brochure. "What do you mean, why he cheated? You mean Grandpa?" She had a sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn't believe he had cheated. What hope was there, when even sweet and devoted Grandpa was a cheater?

"It was because of Jimmy, don't you see? Mom never stopped loving Jimmy, and Dad always wondered if Mom had only married him for his house. For security."

"Maybe he was always a cheater," Heather said, feeling depressed as she opened the brochure. "I mean, the guy met her in a Playboy Club."

"You heard her, he got dragged there the first time. And afterward he only went for her." Mom spread a thick layer of jelly on a slice of toast. "I'm telling you that it ate away at him. He loved her more than she loved him—he always did."

"Did you see the height of these climbs?" Heather blurted, distracted and more than a little daunted by the map. "The first one is almost fourteen thousand feet!" What the hell was Bon thinking? She was seventy years old!

"My whole life Jimmy Keays cast a long shadow," Mom said darkly, waving her triangle of toast. "Imagine how Dad must have felt, in his shadow! Did you know that Junior even asked me about him?"

"What did Junior want to know?" Heather turned the page. "This says we need to carb-load today."

"So eat some toast. I guess Junior wanted to know if he should be worried. He wanted to know where Jimmy was now—he said Mom wouldn't tell him."

"Do you know?" Heather sat up straighter. "Because I went hunting online for him and I couldn't work out which Jimmy Keays I was looking at."

"Do I know?" Mom snorted. "I've never even met the guy! I have one photo of him from the late sixties. I'd be the last person to know. Mom would barely talk about him when I was a kid. She said Dale loved me and was the only father I'd ever need."

"So, you don't know why Jimmy left?"

"No." Mom sounded disgusted. "Dad didn't know either. I asked him once and he was as in the dark as I was. He didn't like it either, that she kept secrets about Jimmy. I mean, who would? All Mom ever said to either of us was that he was gone and that was that."

Heather stared sightlessly at the itinerary in the brochure. "If Junior was asking about Jimmy, then Bon didn't tell him either . . . Does anyone know what happened to Jimmy Keays?"

"Junior said Bon talked about Jimmy in her sleep and would wake up crying. I mean, don't you think that's weird? Crying about a guy who left you fifty years ago?" Mom gave Heather a significant look. "Something made her start thinking about him again."

Heather closed the brochure. "You think she knows where he is?"

"Maybe." Mom ate her toast. And then she sighed. "Although I might still be crying about your father fifty years from now, so who am I to judge."

"You'll be one hundred years old and still crying about Dad?" Heather felt a spurt of disgust. "Or you can get a life," she suggested. "Bon's right, Mom. You're still young. Why don't you get a little cougar action? Move on from Dad. He's not worth this." Especially because Dad sure as hell wasn't sitting around pining for her. He was well and truly moving on . . . from all of them.

"Cougar action." Mom laughed. "No one wants a fifty-year-old woman with twenty extra pounds and a truckload of baggage."

"Puh-lease." Heather had no time for her mother's self-pity. "Junior met Bon when she was in her sixties, and those two had a lot of fun together. And screw your weight, I think you look great. When you bother to shower and all."

Mom threw a crust of toast at her. But she was thinking about it. "Junior was fun for her. Until he upped and died anyway."

"Well, maybe yours would live to ninetysomething like yourpa."

"Pa the Pickled Onion," Mom laughed.

"Yeah, you might like pickled onion."

"I'd rather something fresher," Mom giggled. "You know who I wouldn't mind getting to know? That Kyle. Shawn's friend."

Heather was stunned. "Kyle?"

"Yeah. He's hot, don't you think?"

"No!" Heather laughed. "But each to their own. He's a nice guy." She paused. "And actually, probably perfect for you, except he's too young."

"Too young!" Mom scoffed. "And how old is your dad's fiancé, huh? Twelve."

"She's forty. Kyle's only thirty."

"That seems perfectly acceptable. What's the calculation? Half your age plus seven?"

"What are you talking about?"

Mom was coming alive in this conversation. Her blue eyes were snapping, and she had a smile that caused dimples to leap in her cheeks. She looked brighter and younger and full of energy. The fact Heather was talking to her again had lifted her mood immeasurably. "There used to be a calculation for it. You can go younger so long as you stay within the bounds of half your age, plus seven."

Heather did the math in her head. "He's too young for you. By three years."

"I could lie about my age?"

Heather laughed. She hadn't seen her mom this relaxed and playful for an exceedingly long time. Usually she was only like this when she and Dad were in the "making-up" phase. It was nice to see that she could get to this place on her own, without Dad. Now she just needed to get here without Heather.

"So tell me why you think he's perfect for me?" Mom asked, pulling her knees up toward her. "What does he do, love bomb and fuck around?"

Heather laughed. "No, just that he's a musician. And he has an unhealthy obsession with nineties grunge, and he's fanboy-ing over you being the Sandy in ‘Sandy Swears.'"

"It is pretty cool," Mom said smugly. "It's one of their decent songs too. What does he play? Tell me he's not a lead guitarist."

"He's not a lead guitarist. He's a drummer. Graduated from the music program at Columbia and is good enough to make a living teaching and playing. He does session stuff a lot."

"Musicians seem to be my lot in life," Mom said lightly. "Is he single?"

"As far as I know." Heather tried to picture Mom dating Kyle. She kind of could. "He wants you to autograph his Torn CD," she said with a laugh.

Mom giggled again. "Your dad would love that. Me signing his CD."

"About as much as he'd love you hooking up with a guy young enough to be his son." Heather paused. "But go gently, hey? I like Kyle. Don't break his heart or anything just to hurt Dad."

"Heather, you're talking as though a woman my age could actually attract a thirty-year-old man." Mom rolled her eyes. "I was just playing. I'm not actually going to do anything. Can you imagine? I'd look ridiculous."

"You know what, Mom? I don't think you would."

Mom took that in and smiled.

* * *

"So, when did the Fleetwood Mac concert happen?" Heather asked Bon, as they ambled through the San Pedro markets. "I thought you said you got it on after the concert, but last night you said you were hooking up in your trailer."

"We didn't hook up in any such place," Bon said, once again appalled at Heather's listening skills. "We kissed in my trailer. That's not hooking up."

"You said once he started, he didn't stop."

"Okay, stop there," Mom ordered. "I don't want to hear about my parents hooking up."

"Why not, it was beautiful." Bon was offended. "He was a gentle lover."

"No!" Mom howled. "No-no-no-no-no-no." She put her hands over her ears.

"What? You'd rather hear he was rough?"

"Talking to your kid like this is child abuse."

"You're middle aged."

"Rude." Mom veered off to look at a stall.

The markets were just a short walk from the Plaza de Armas, through a gated entrance; they were a chaotic blaze of noise and color, with literally hundreds of stalls crammed together. Bon had led them to the gastronomy section first, to start their carb loading for the trek ahead.

"Your mother seems happier," Bon said suspiciously.

"Yeah, she's thinking about becoming a cougar." Heather paused in front of a food stall. Every dish seemed to come with soup.

"Look, they've got baked guinea pigs," Bon said, pointing.

"If Mom wouldn't let you eat alpaca, she's certainly not going to be happy about guinea pigs."

"She needs to be more open to other cultures."

"She's just an animal lover."

"So am I. I'm just a carnivorous one."

"There's a whole juice section!" Mom announced, returning with juice. "This one's the Combinado," she said happily, passing it to Heather.

It was bright reddish orange. Heather took a sip. It was intense. It wasn't watered down; it was a blast of tropical flavors and something earthy. "Are there beets in this?"

"Good guess! Beets, papaya, banana, and orange. What's it like?"

Heather handed it back and accepted the next one.

Bon was holding something green. "What the hell am I drinking?" she asked, nose wrinkling.

"Aloe and alfalfa. It's supposed to be medicinal."

Heather tried the milky pink one. "Oh, I like this one. I'm keeping it."

Mom laughed. "That's just strawberries and milk."

"I thought we were supposed to be carb loading."

"We are." Mom and Bon swapped their juices back and forth as they kept walking. "I saw empanadas over that way?"

"Let's get corn on the cob," Heather suggested, liking the look of the bristling red and yellow cobs, so different from the smooth corn she was used to at the supermarkets back home.

"I like the look of the pastries," Bon disagreed.

In the end they ate all of it. They shared plates of fried potatoes and plantains, hot oily noodles, salty corn, and fresh-baked pastries.

"I'll climb all the hills in the world if I can eat like this every day," Bon said happily, as they wound their way out of the gastronomic section, heading for the textiles to look for souvenirs. "Oh, look, Junior, they have boxes like yours!" Bon held Junior up to look at the carved wooden jewelry boxes, which were stacked up in a pyramid.

"Bon," Heather blurted. "Don't be offended, but how long are you planning to carry Junior around with you?"

"I'm not offended. I'll carry him around until it's time to let him go. I told him I would if he upped and died on me, and I'm a woman of her word."

"And how do you think Junior feels about this?" Mom asked, curious.

"He doesn't feel anything, honey. He's dead."

"You must miss him." Heather couldn't imagine what it must be like to be a widow.

"I miss them all," Bon sighed. "Three times a widow is too much."

Heather startled at her words. "Wait. What? What do you mean three?"

"Not now, honey." She patted Heather's arm and wandered off to look at a stall of beaded jewelry, holding Junior close.

"Mom?" Heather hissed, leaning into her mother. "What did she mean widowed three times?"

"I don't know . . ." Mom was equally blindsided.

"Is there a husband I don't know about?" Or . . .

"Mom," Mom called sharply, striding over to where Bon was toying with bracelets. "You can't drop something like that and just walk off."

"Sure, I can." Bon held three slender bracelets out to the vendor. "I'll take these." She paid for them, tucked the little paper bag in her pocket and gave Heather and her mom a reproving look. "Not here, and not now," she said firmly. "Today is for fun." And she left them, headed for a stall of traditional Andean bowler hats.

For some reason Heather's stomach was in knots. Three dead husbands could only mean Jimmy was . . .

Mom was deathly pale. "Maybe that's why Junior asked about him," Mom said shakily.

"You think Bon found out that Jimmy had died?"

"Maybe that's why she was dreaming about him. . . ."

"But how did she find out? If he died, how did she find out?" Heather hissed.

"Why didn't she tell Junior?" Mom had gone from pale to slightly gray. "And why didn't she tell me?"

* * *

"Your mom's moody again," Bon sighed. "I thought she was cheering up." She was bent over her luggage, making sure she had everything she needed in her pack, for their trek the next day. Their suitcases would be shipped on to Aguas Calientes, where they'd be waiting for them when they got down from Machu Picchu in a few days.

"She's not moody," Heather defended her mother. She sat on Bon's bed, knowing she should be sorting her own luggage. The mystery of Jimmy Keays was eating at her. Just as it was eating at Mom. "She's upset. About Jimmy."

Bon startled, looking up from her pack.

"You said you were widowed three times ... ," Heather prodded.

Bon's expression drew in on itself, like a blind closing.

"And Mom said Junior asked her about Jimmy, not long ago. . . ." Heather didn't think it was her imagination that Bon's hands were shaking as she lifted them from her pack.

"Yes, he said he'd asked her about Jimmy." Bon stood. "Junior always told me everything." Her gaze moved to Junior's box.

The air seemed colder and the room a touch darker. Heather felt like she was standing on the edge of the precipice, and abruptly she wasn't sure if she wanted to know what was at the bottom of it.

But she couldn't help herself from asking, "And did you tell him everything?"

Bon didn't meet Heather's eye. And when she spoke, she spoke about Junior, not about Jimmy.